Luck is Chance but Trouble is Sure
by DarkMidnightStars
Summary: Eventually the orphanage closed down and everyone left...except me." Goob was left to his own devices when the orphanage closed. Close to death, he is rescued by a girl who just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
1. Chapter 1

**Michael Yagoobian **

Fate is a funny thing. I'm not sure whether everything is pre-determined, or if life is just totally random, but it's interesting to think about. Was it meant to be that said my parents died in an accident? Was it pure misfortune I got left behind when the orphanage closed? Was it destiny that she found me when she did?

I was 10 when they closed down the orphanage. 10 years old when I was deserted. About the time when my roommate got adopted, some of the teenage jerks who had no hope of being adopted thought it would be amusing to tie me up and leave me in my closet. Really funny, guys. I probably would have been fine if the inspector hadn't come in and declared the orphanage as structurally unsound and ordered an evacuation. Half conscious, I heard Mildred come into my room, calling my name. She couldn't hear my screams through the five strips of duct tape. I guess she figured I ran away or something, because they just left, not bothering to look in the closet. It was just, "Goob, where are you? He's not here, oh well." and then slam the door and never look back. Keep moving forward, right?

Eventually I got myself free, but it was too late. The stupid idiots even took my binder. I probably should have done the smart thing, and found an adult, gone to the police or something, but no. I was Mike Yagoobian and I could do it on my own. I had been by myself most of my life anyway, hadn't I? I had learned the hard way that you couldn't trust anyone. My parents, they up and died on me. Mildred, she left me behind with not so much as a second glance. Lewis, he…he ruined my life. He took all my hopes and dreams and crushed them under the shiny surface of his precious contraption. But that's what happens when you get a science geek for a roommate.

The radio told me it was supposed to be sunny out. Those weathermen are big fat liars. It was pouring rain, and from the sound of it, a storm was coming. This was good news for me, because I needed some water. The only problem was I couldn't get out of bed. I felt weak all over, which I found really odd, because I had actually eaten pretty well this week. Also, my head ached, so I assumed I was just getting a cold or something. Flu would suck, but I had pulled through it last winter. It was June now, and I told myself I could do it again. All I needed was rest. I spent most of my time in bed anyway, so I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Sleep was essential for me. It was sort of like hibernation. I needed less food, water, and energy when I slept. I could sleep up to 18 hours a day now. The only problem with so much sleep was that I dreamed. A lot. This wasn't a good thing.

Sometimes I dreamed about nice stuff, like baseball, or real food, but it was mostly nightmares. Often my dreams were about getting beat up, or abandoned, or Lewis laughing in my face as if he enjoyed my pain. Almost every night I woke up shivering, sometimes screaming, after these psychologically torturing episodes.

Tonight (well, technically, this morning) it was a mixture of everything. It started off really good, too. It was a sunny day, I was playing baseball, and it looked like we were going to win. I had my hand outstretched to catch the ball, the catch that would win the game. I could see it now. I would become the star of the game, everyone would like me, and then a proud couple would come along and adopt me. I would have all the love I had lost over the years. I could have all the juice boxes I wanted. I almost had the ball when out of nowhere I was run over. Run over by a bright red wagon, pulled by Lewis, who deftly caught the ball before it hit the ground. All my teammates ran over, congratulating him, leaving me in the dirt, broken and injured. I called out for help, but they didn't pay attention. For a minute, it seemed like Lewis was coming back for me, but he just grabbed the handle of his wagon and whispered maliciously, "sorry, Goob." He roughly yanked the wagon off of me and I was swallowed by pain.

Awakening, I realized the pain wasn't just imaginary. My chest felt like it was being stepped on with cleats. I gasped, trying to breathe without making it hurt even more. I'm not a doctor, but this obviously wasn't an ordinary cold or flu. This scared me a little, because I had no idea how to handle this. I hoped I could just sleep it off. The only problem was, I didn't want to face my nightmares again.

It was dark when I woke up again. I didn't have the time or energy to find the light switch. Stumbling out of my bunk, I retched and vomited all over the floor. It kept up until my shrunken stomach was completely empty, and I had to fight to stop my abdominal muscles from dry-heaving. Now terrified, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and crawled back into bed. My head was pounding, my chest still ached, and now my throat burned along with the nausea that was still lurking in my stomach. I had never felt worse in my life. On top of it all, I couldn't stop shaking. I began to sob weakly, wondering desperately why I was so stupid to stay at the orphanage. Didn't anyone notice I hadn't left? There was no one to care that I had been on my own for nearly four years, no one to care that I had to fight for survival in this crumbling hell, no one to care that I might be dying. Even though there was nobody around to see me cry, I felt ashamed. I was breaking down. I couldn't let that happen. Rule number three of survival: keep your cool. Breathing deeply to calm both myself and my queasy stomach, I resolved to find out what the problem was. I made a mental list of what was wrong with me.

Vomiting

Chest Pain

Trembling

Weak muscles

Headache…

I must have drifted off to sleep again after number 5, because next thing I knew, it was light out. I could feel it slipping under my eyelids. Prying my eyes open, I found myself face-to-face with a girl.

"Who are you?" she asked incredulously.

At that inopportune moment, my abdominal reflexes couldn't hold out any longer, and I threw up over the side of the bed in response.

**Christophine Himmel**

You know, I've always believed in luck. Luck and karma. It was a lucky toss on that coin. Everyone could have sworn it was going to be tails. Even me. But somehow, maybe by a chance gust of wind, or a freak tremor in the ground, it landed on just the precise angle to land on heads. They looked up from the small silver circle at me.

"Looks like it's gonna be you, Chris." Derek smirked. I sighed resignedly. Call us chicken, but each of us had our fears about the older buildings that were said to be haunted. Especially the orphanage. So in our photography group, we flipped a coin to see who would go in and get the pictures. Gripping the camera tightly, I nodded tersely.

"You guys are gonna be right out here though, right?" I asked hopefully. Derek laughed.

"Dream on, rookie. We've got lots more shots to get today. Mrs. Granger won't wait forever. But think of it as your first solo. Good experience." He gave me a wink before getting on his bike and riding away with the other five.

I gulped and turned slowly towards the orphanage. It had only been closed for four years, but it already looked really old, and possibly, really haunted. The people who lived in this part of town said if you listened closely at night, you could hear the wails of the poor orphans who didn't get adopted. Sliding under the yellow caution tape, I pried the door open and entered the Sixth Street Orphanage.

It was kind of dark, mostly because the windows had been boarded over. Clicking my flashlight on, I walked around, taking snapshots of anything that looked interesting. I was about to wrap it up when I heard it.

A quiet, but echoing moaning coming from upstairs. Frightened, I wanted to turn and flee, but something curious inside me dragged me up the creaking stairs. Some of the steps were so rotted I had to step over them. _This place really is dangerous,_ I thought. I finally made it to the first floor, and the moaning had become louder. It was so much like a horror movie I nearly laughed. Creeping down the dim hallway, I followed the noise to a room at the end. Pausing at the door, I questioned myself whether I really wanted to face the noise. Taking a deep breath, I peeked in. I was utterly shocked at what I saw.

A boy, around 12 or 13, lying in a bottom bunk. He moaned in his sleep, tossing and turning wildly. With the beam of light from my flashlight aimed on him, my sneakers skidded on something wet on the floor. Regaining my balance before I fell over, I looked down and realized sickly that it was vomit. This kid was seriously ill.

Leaning down towards him, I looked him over. It might have been the light, but he was extremely pale and seemed emaciated. His brownish hair was dirty and stuck up everywhere. He wore a filthy baseball uniform that was way too small for him. I must have accidentally shined the light in his eyes, because he opened his eyes and looked at me apprehensively.

"Who are you?" I asked, worried for this poor boy that appeared to live in this dump.

He didn't reply, but his face contorted and he bent forward and upchucked. I leapt back quickly. It was horrible, watching him. I knew I needed help. Pulling out my phone, I dialed 911.

"What's your emergency?" a cool voice inquired.

"I need an ambulance, I think. I've got a sick kid at the Sixth Street Orphange." I explained, as the boy heaved again and again.

"That place is closed down." The woman said, confused.

"I know! But he's here, and he needs help!" I nearly yelled.

"Calm down. EMS is on their way." She informed me, her professional tone returning.

The guy looked up at me, shuddering close to the point of convulsions. His mouth opened and closed frantically, as if he wanted to tell me something.

"What? What?!" I asked, stepping slightly closer. All of a sudden he fell unconscious, collapsing onto the floor. I gasped sharply, and tried to help him. Lifting him under the arms, I dragged him over to the wall, sitting him up against a dresser. He was burning with fever. I could hear sirens approaching, and I gave the boy a relieved look.

"You're gonna be okay. It's gonna be fine." I said out loud, more to reassure him than me. Paramedics burst through the door, and I squirmed out of their way as they took him out of the room, talking to each other in some kind of medical code. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small white sphere on the dresser. Gingerly picking it up, I examined it, and decided to return it to the sick kid.

After all, it was probably the only thing he had.


	2. Chapter 2

**Michael Yagoobian**

I was playing baseball again.

I was beginning to distrust these dreams, because something bad almost always happened. Sure enough, just as I stepped up to bat, _he_ was the pitcher. Lewis grinned evilly at me, holding my favourite baseball. I felt sort of scared, but mostly angry. I'd show him. I'd smash that ball so hard he wouldn't see it fly right past his face. Pulling back his arm, Lewis got ready to pitch. I swung my bat up over my shoulder, getting into the proper stance. I saw the white circle leave his hand and come flying straight towards me. An easy hit. Then, all of a sudden, I couldn't move. I was frozen in place. I mentally yelled at my arms. _Swing! Swing!!!_ It whizzed past my head and I heard it land in the catcher's glove with a thud. As fast as I had seized up, I could move again. Lewis smirked at me, while all my teammates glared. They began to advance on me with their fists raised, and I knew it would just be a repeat of the last game I played.

Opening my eyes, I realized I was tangled in sheets. For a minute I was scared; I had no idea where I was. I saw an I.V. stuck into my arm, and figured I was in a hospital. My stomach didn't hurt quite so much, and I was feeling sort of rested, but my head still throbbed. Questions jolted through my mind. What hospital was this? How did I get here? Why was I here? The last question was obvious. I could remember my illness well enough.

A nurse came into the room and began checking the needles jammed into my forearm, all the while making notes on her clipboard. She either didn't know or care that I was awake. I tried to wave my arm slightly to get her attention but it hurt like crazy to do so. I attempted to talk, but ended up clearing my throat instead. The blonde woman looked at me in surprise.

"So, you're finally awake. That was a nasty bug you had. It was a close one, I'll tell you that." She told me all this as she poked and prodded at me, checking my pulse and temperature and taking more notes. I kept opening my mouth to talk but she wouldn't give me a chance to speak.

"Now then, we'll get Dr. Weiss in here to look you over, hmm?" She spoke to me like one would speak to a toddler. It kind of irked me. She patted my head and left the room, and I was granted maybe three seconds of silence before she came chirping back into the room, followed by a wise-looking man. He examined me much the same way the nurse had, and it was all very professional and routine. I got the impression that I was just a burden on them.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked when he had finished, peering at me over his glasses. I attempted to speak but my mouth felt suddenly dry and dehydrated. Dr. Weiss frowned at me and murmured something to the nurse as they both exited the room again. I felt like going back to sleep. The room was so warm and this bed was so comfortable…

There was a knock at the door. Already half asleep, I wondered groggily why they would knock anyway. This was their room, technically. I was just borrowing it until they could find somewhere else to dump me. Another woman with a clipboard pushed the door open and came over to my bedside. I groaned a little, hoping they weren't going to stick me with any more needles.

"Young man, there is a visitor here for you. Would you like me to let them in?" she inquired, sounding very secretary-like. I shrugged as best I could with tubes and junk sticking out of me and she nodded curtly. I didn't have any friends or family or anyone who cared about me. It was probably some social security person coming to see what orphanage I would be forced into next. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to nearly be washed under by waves of sleep. My ears were filled with the hums of the machines and the slowing beeps of the heart rate monitor. In the very back of my mind, I could hear footsteps approach the bed. They were squeaking sneakers, I deduced, and the secretary lady mumbled something like, "Sure is rainy out there, isn't it?" before she left. The wet shoes twisted and turned with shrill squeals, and it was starting to make my head hurt even more. Opening my eyes a crack, I saw that it was the girl. The one that was at the orphanage. She smiled nervously at me, holding out a cup of water.

"They said if I was going in here, I might as well give you this while I was at it." She placed it in my hands, making sure I had a firm grip on it before releasing it. I gulped it down gratefully, but it unnerved me the way she watched. Shakily, I tried to put it on the night table beside me, and she grabbed it so it wouldn't tip.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, and it sounded sincere, not like an obligation.

I coughed and replied, "Why do you care?" It sounded too harsh after I said it.

She backed up a step. "You were really sick. They thought you were going to...to die."

I grimaced. "Wonderful." There was a moment of silence as she stared at me, and then she reached into her backpack and, to my shock, pulled out my baseball.

"Here. They threw away everything else in the room. I just thought that you might want to keep this." She rested it beside the cup on the table.

I didn't know what to say. "Thanks, I guess." There was another silent pause. "My name's Mike Yagoobian." I said awkwardly. "People used to call me Goob."

The girl cocked her head thoughtfully. "Did you want them to?"

This threw me. I had never really thought about it. Of course I never liked the name Goob, but I had gotten used to it. Everyone called me Goob, ever since I first came to the orphanage and Lewis took it upon himself to give me this nickname. Coach called me Goob. My teachers called me Goob. Even Mildred thought of me as Goob, as much as she tried to call me Michael. It was my name. In life, you were a given a name that was yours and you couldn't change it. _Well, some people could_, I thought darkly. Namely, "Cornelius." Goob…now that I gave it consideration, if I could choose, I wouldn't use it.

"No." I replied finally. "I didn't."

She gave me a serious look. "Then I'll call you Mike."

I glanced away. This was just…I didn't know the word for it. I had no problem with this girl. Actually, I might consider a friendship with her. That was, if talking to me wasn't just to soothe her conscience. But no one had ever actually cared what I thought. No one had every really cared how I felt. This was a new experience for me.

"I'm Chris, by the way." My face must have given away my confusion. "It's short for Christophine" She said this with a kind of resentment, and I assumed she didn't like her given name either. It was kind of outdated, I guess. Not bad, just old-fashioned. At the same time, I felt stupid. Of course girls could be named Chris.

"So," she said. "You like baseball?" I was just trying to kill the silence.

"I love baseball." I explained. "It's my favorite thing in the whole world."

Chris looked down at her squeaking shoes. It dawned on me that she was soaked, and must have been out in the rain for a while. I was about to ask how she had found me when the blonde nurse burst into the room again.

"Okay, chickie, out you go." She shooed Chris away. Chris gave her a bewildered look, as if to say: _Did you just call me what I think you called me?_ Nonetheless, she waved at me and did as she was told.

I picked up the baseball and rolled it around in my hand. _Maybe…maybe this could be good._ I thought as I began to fall back asleep.

**Christophine Himmel**

I left the hospital, disliking the blonde who had called me "chickie." What kind of a name was that? Well I guessed it was better then "Goob." I stifled a laugh. Poor Mike.

To tell the truth, all of the staff there weren't very nice. It took me forever to convince the woman behind the desk to let me go see the kid. She kept asking, "Are you family? Are you his friend? Do you know him at all?" I had to resignedly tell her no, but eventually I got her to budge. Then she shoved a cup of water and my hand and asked, no, told me to give it to him. I wasn't hospital staff, for goodness sake.

Still, I was glad the boy was getting better. I felt so bad for him, when he was sick. And when they were about to give up on him…

I pedaled home, pondering my visit with the dark haired boy. There were a lot of things I wanted to ask him. Why was he there all alone? Did he run away? I didn't want to be rude though. It was none of my business. He obviously had trust issues. It was apparent in the way he snapped at me. "Why do you care?" Actually, that was an excellent question. Why did I care? He was just a dirty, deprived orphan who needed medical care. It was necessary to get him the help he needed but then what? I didn't have anything to do with him anymore. I didn't need to care.

I suppose…I suppose he deserved a friend. That's why I cared. I was befriending a friendless kid. That said, I didn't really have a lot of friends either. But what if he didn't want a friend? Then, I decided. Then I would stop caring. At least I got him his baseball back. That should make him happy, if nothing else will.


End file.
